


Saved

by Pholo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Keith saves him, Love Confessions, M/M, Shiro gets tortured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo
Summary: Stop stop please stop please please please I can't breathe pleaseBut they held him to the fire, only ever reaching over to tune a dial on his headpiece. Once as Shiro gulped for oxygen a hand adjusted the gag in his mouth. Shiro gasped around a sob, and air flooded his lungs."All right, Paladin," a voice said. "Let's see what you have to share."





	Saved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldmythologies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmythologies/gifts).



> IT'S [OLDMYTHOLOGY'S](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmythologies/pseuds/oldmythologies) BIRTHDAY! Or, it was when I started this ahaha. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU WONDERFUL SLICE OF SUNSHINE! Enjoy this present of......pain?

Shiro remembered the first time they tortured him, he promised himself he wouldn't scream.

That was years ago now, back when he was first captured after Kerberos…back before he had a private cell. After that first visit to the electrocution rack, his cellmates had given him some general advice:

Become whatever they want you to become; babble and scream like a madman or a demon. Embrace the pain. Forget all hope of escape and simply _be_.

And maybe it did help a bit, as he wrestled with the phantom pains that gripped his arm at night, or fell prey to the whims of the guards…to throw himself into the pain, or perhaps just throw himself away. To turn his brain off and simply _hurt_ like an animal.

That was the frame of thought Shiro reverted to as he lay there strapped to a table, separated from his friends while a Galran doctor fiddled with the device around his head. Times like these he usually coped by counting the seconds, or the syllables of the Galra's speech…but with his back to a metal table like this, all he could think about was the rapid beat of his own heart; the fear that choked up his throat.

_Let it flow. Let it hurt._

Voltron wouldn't come fast enough to save him. They were going to extract his memories, he was certain—Slav had spoken of a similar device as the one currently strapped to his head—and once the process was complete they'd have no reason to keep him alive.

It was over. Voltron could go on without him.

_You will not be rescued. Become the pain. Forget you were ever free._

But—

Shiro's last coherent thought before the device activated was,

_I'm sorry, Keith._

There was a click, a hum, and Shiro's world burst apart.

It was like a hundred nails slammed into his brain at once. Shiro almost didn't register his own screams; he was too preoccupied with the light spilling out behind his eye sockets; the white-hot agony that split him apart at the seams…So fast, so casually, like his skull was barely a piece of tissue paper in a child's hands. Over his own cries he heard a doctor call for quiet. There was a shadow across his periphery—then someone stuffed a gag in his mouth. Shiro choked for air; he tasted salt and blood where his tears caught on his lips. His wrist and ankles strained against the manacles on the table.

_Stop stop please stop please please please I can't breathe please_

But they held him to the fire, only ever reaching over to tune a dial on his headpiece. Once as Shiro gulped for oxygen a hand adjusted the gag in his mouth. Shiro gasped around a sob, and air flooded his lungs.

"All right, Paladin," a voice said. "Let's see what you have to share."

The gag was replaced. Shiro's vision bleached out with a new spike of pain. Images swarmed behind his eyes: Pictures of his home on Earth; of his life with the Paladins. The force in his brain did not so much copy his memories as scrape them up between its fingers and throw them behind its back, digging into the marrow of his mind with jagged claws…searching for the deeper parts of himself.

Shiro could see specifics start to emerge through the cracks: _Pidge Allura Hunk Lance Coran Keith no no no no no they can’t have them_

Shiro's fear gave him strength: he pushed back at the device with everything he had. The energy in his brain screamed—or maybe that was Shiro; he was too far gone to tell—and slammed back against his mental wall with the force of a freight train. Shiro writhed against the table. He fumbled after the evil energy, but a gear changed on his headset and he was reduced to a howling mess. His barriers were pounded to rubble. Unhindered, the energy burrowed deeper and deeper into his skull.

_Keith not Keith please not him_

But the energy seemed to perk up at Keith’s name. Shiro bucked against the restraints as the force tore through his memories of Keith; seized upon every detail of their friendship.

 _No no pleaseIlovehim_ **_please_ **

The Galra around him were enjoying this; distantly, as if from miles away, Shiro thought he could hear them laughing. Was he begging around the gag? Everything was fuzzy—fading.

He couldn't lose consciousness. He had to keep fighting…

But he was too weak to do much more than cry. The pain went on for what felt like an age. Shiro's thoughts were barely more than agonized flickers. He repeated the name like a mantra, though after a while he forgot who it belonged to:

_Keith, Keith, Keith..._

 

 

"Shiro…Shiro, I'm right here. It's okay now. I'm here."

Shiro didn't understand. He was awake, but there wasn't any pain. The fingers in his hair were gentle, like they were scared to hurt him—and then there was a brush of air as the ring was removed from his head.

Shiro didn't dare open his eyes. He felt someone coax the gag out from between his teeth. He gave a hiccup of breath as oxygen hit the back of his throat. 

A voice shushed him as he whimpered.

"I've got you. I've got you, Takashi."

More rustling, then a clunk. The pressure around Shiro's wrist and ankles evaporated as the manacles popped open. He was unrestrained now, too tired to move where he lay prone on his back. A hand came up to cup his cheek; a belated tear left Shiro's eye.

"Hey, buddy." The person combed the tear away with their thumb. They swallowed. "Hey, baby. Come on. Open your eyes for me."

Shiro didn't know why, but he wanted to do as this voice asked. He flexed his bloody wrist once—they'd taken his prosthetic before the procedure began—and opened his eyes.

The lights were off now. The Galra were gone. Slowly the blur of the room narrowed down to the person at Shiro’s bedside.

Keith's eyes were darker like this; more black than violet. He was craned over Shiro's head, stooped to meet Shiro's stare with a wobbly smile—and there were tears on his face, too. His hands came up to cradle the sides of Shiro's head. His fingers sifted over his short hair as he brushed their foreheads together. His breath fanned out across Shiro's skin. Shiro tried to reach up to touch his face, but his hand barely twitched on the table.

"Keith…" Shiro managed. "Please. I need to—hold you, please—"

Shiro's name left Keith's mouth like a sob. He wrenched Shiro up into his arms, curling his hands along his back. Shiro could do little more than melt into the embrace. He relished the warmth of Keith’s body; the way his heartbeat fluttered against his chest. His shoulders quaked as he pressed Shiro closer, closer—like he'd never let go; like Shiro was something precious…

Shiro gulped down a breath. There were tears on his cheeks again. He let his head rest against Keith's shoulder, turning his nose into his neck. Keith's shudders were like aftershocks against his skin.

"How did you find me?" he whispered.

Keith swallowed. "I could hear you," he croaked. "You were calling out to me."

Shiro let his eyes slip closed. He was too tired to feel embarrassed or guilty. All he had space for in his head was Keith's warmth…the sureness of his presence. The crushing relief of his arms around his back.

"The ship's ours now," Keith went on quietly. He trailed a hand up Shiro's spine, to rest at the back of his head. "We're safe."

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut. He let a hurt noise spill from his throat; harrowed and broken. The pain was gone now, but its teeth were too fresh in his mind—the way it cut through his skin and spilled into his veins like liquid fire. He could still feel the phantom skitters of dark energy in his head.

Keith's right hand cradled the back of Shiro’s neck, his thumb brushing shapes into the skin there. "It's okay," he murmured, and he pressed a kiss to the line of his shoulder. His hand cupped his back all the tighter. "I love you. It's okay now. It's okay, Takashi. Just let it out."

So Shiro let himself cry. He let himself burrow into Keith's chest, hiding under the shelter of his arms. He let himself memorize the words Keith spoke against his skin; the fierce kisses he pressed to his neck and shoulders.

"I've got you. I love you. I love you."

He let himself believe he'd been saved.

**Author's Note:**

> Was gonna' just put this on Tumblr, but the text post-er thing has been fackin' up my punctuation D:< BAH!


End file.
